Thursday, January 22, 2015

The Bike

My father's bike sat undisturbed in the garage. Its red metal gleaming in the evening light, as if it was lonely; begging to be ridden. He didn't ride it anymore because he hurt his leg in the war. He promised it would be mine when I grew into it. However, that would take forever. I put my bike in its proper place in the garage and stood there staring at dad's bike. I stepped closer and rubbed my hand along the seat then gripped the handlebars. I wasn't tall enough to get my leg over the bar, but there was a milk crate in the corner. I grabbed it, climbed up and stretched my leg over pressing my feet against the middle bar until I could reach the seat. I held on to some nearby boxes and let my legs dangle from the seat. If I arched my foot, just right I could hit the pedal and make it spin.



I propped my leg against the boxes so I could put my hands on the handle bars. My small arms barely reached, but it was good enough for the garage. I closed my eyes and imagined riding down the alley towards the park. I waved to my friends as I passed by and they followed on their bikes. I pedaled my heart out, speeding away until their screams became whispers; their faces turned to blurs, and faded into the horizon. The park was a short distance from the neighborhood and all the kids rode there. There was a lake on the far end of the park with a picnic table. I could prop the bike up there and get off. I had a half loaf of stale bread with me and to feed the ducks, as the other riders passed by giggling and laughing among themselves. Soon, my friends would catch up and we could feed the ducks together and watch the sun dance just above the water. I wonder what happens when it touches the water. Does it burns out like fire? is this what happens when the night comes?

"Ollie!" called his mother

"Yes, Mom?" I replied

"Supper" she replied

"I'll be right there" 


  1. Oh, I just loved this piece, Mangus. So reminiscent of innocent times of my past. And that is what you made me think of, my past, my youth, my Dad: thank you. What a lovely step into an old familiar reality I visit so rarely now. Wonderful. xo

  2. Memories. I used to love riding a bike. Your descriptions are excellent. Good to see you back Mangus

  3. Very playful, it is true to that child imagination and dreaming.

  4. Ooo! I really like this one! Such wonderful visuals!

  5. Magnus, this was a departure of what I'm so used to reading, but I really liked what you posted, bringing back the fond memories of childhood. You painted it so well, I was into it. Great work!

  6. Magnificent story as seen through a young boy's eyes.You transformed his day dream into reality and then back to a day dream perfectly. The imagery of the boy getting on the bicycle was precisely real.

  7. What an imagination for this little boy! I wonder how long he has been dreaming of riding that bike.
    I also wonder if his dad will ever be ready to let him ride. It might be painful to see someone else do something that he can't do anymore.

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